The Not-So-Great Escape
by Midnight12reader
Summary: All Q wanted to do was head out on his much overdue vacation. As Bond's handler, he really should have known better. Disclaimer: I own nothing: merely play with, borrow, and try not to break. Rated high to be safe. Now with improved and much longer, 1st and 2nd chapters to make way for more bonus chapters. Now officially a WIP.
1. The Successful Getaway

The Not-So-Great Escape

Chapter 1

The Successful Getaway

"Where the hell are you, Q!", Bond yelled as he raced through an alleyway, shooting sporadically coming through over the speakers into Q Branch. He was rapidly becoming irritated with having to run around in this bloody heat, and the continued silence coming from his ear piece was becoming worrisome. He continued down another alley, and quickly swung into a rather down trodden market area filled with busy stalls. He paused for a moment to catch his breath in the guise of looking at some of the items on display.

A small trinket caught his eye as he passed. With a quick grin at the thought of presenting it to Q at an inopportune and thoroughly embarrassing moment , he deftly snatched it from the table, and slipped it into his inner pocket as he hurried past. Maybe there was a way to salvage this detour after all, he mused, as a small grin touched the corner of his mouth.

His attention snapped back to the mission at hand, however, as he heard the commotion made by several men pushing their way through the crowd and toward his location over the dull roar of the marketplace. With barely a pause, his pace quickened to a looping run as he once again demanded a response from his handler, "If you're off making another bloody cup of tea, instead of..." he ranted.

Heads around Q branch snapped up and around to stare at the command platform, as Bond's voice echoed over the speakers. Verbal sparring between 007 and Q was not to be missed, it was enough to liven up any day filled with the tedium of inputting data for the lowly techs at the bottom of the totem poll. And, well, with an opening salvo like that, it certainly wasn't going to be boring. Soft groans of disappointment echoed through out Q branch, as Q deftly switched the com from speaker to a more private line.

"Do keep your head, 007. I rather thought you would be used to these types of situations what with the way you normally go about business. And for your information, we're out of 'bloody cups of tea' because a certain agent apparently isn't above acting like a two year old. " Q nonchalantly remarked, as he continued to type away at his central station, attempting to ascertain Bond' s current location. After a short , barely discernible pause, "Oh, there you are. I see you. And no where near where you should be, as well." Q reported.

"I know where I am, Q!" He gruffly replied. "Where have you been?!" he asked. Quick but controlled breathing came through the com line. Along with an annoyed huff at the lack of an immediate response from his so-called handler. It made the act of dumping his Q's tea into the rubbish bin during his last visit to Q branch all the more satisfying to recall. The nerve of him, not to mention the balls, trying to dock his pay. He had needed the distraction, damn it!

"Irritated, are we?" Q quipped. "That's what happens when you blow up the getaway car yet again, 007. You end up having to do a bit of light running." A scoff from Bond threaded through the speaker of Q's ear piece.

"I will never understand your fascination with explosives, 007. There are so many less flashy, and more effective ways to go about things, not to mention less destructive. To think you could have been at your destination already, if you had used the equipment I gave you as intended, instead of blowing it up.", Q dryly remarked.

He then had the cheek to add, "...And this time I really am going to take it out of your pay, 007. I don't care if I have to bloody booby trap the tin with a taser. This is getting ridiculous."

Bond could only grunt in reply as he executed a quick turn, only to slam into the side of fruit truck as it barreled by. However, the glare he directed at the camera as he ran past spoke volumes. Forget about the tea, he snarled to himself, he was going after that pretentious treasured mug of his next, and Q could forget about his damn 'present' as well. He cut through a small shop, slipping on a pair of glasses he snagged out of a fellow customer's pocket. He slide through the small crowd as he made his way towards the back and out the door into yet another alley.

"Are you done with your fashion routine yet, 007?" Q's dulcet tones had turned slightly mocking. "Or should I wait while you pick out an entirely new wardrobe?" Bond could practically hear Q's eyebrow arching up mockingly.

"Take your next right. No! I said, right!" Q suddenly directed. He watched as Bond pivoted and threw himself to the right, narrowly avoiding being clipped by a bullet as it whizzed past. "It seems your friends have caught up to you." Q dryly reported.

"Really Q, I never would have guessed.",came Bond's sarcastic reply as his breath puffed out over the small speaker. He heard Q's answering haughty sniff clearly over the crystal clear com line.

"I do amaze even myself." Q drawled. Bond could only roll his eyes.

After he had successfully corrected course, Q sat back with his now nuke-warm cup of Earl Grey. There was no reason to crush Bond's little moment of victory by informing him of the spare tins that were always kept on hand by his minions, or, ahem, interns in order to placate him after they messed up in some spectacular fashion. He took a small sip as he continued to guide Bond through the narrow streets one turn at a time. "Left."

"Right." How tediously mind numbing, Q thought. His mind was already starting to wander, as his eye drifted to the clock. Soon, he thought, with a quick grin, before his professional mask once again dropped over his features. Bond would soon by someone else's problem for a while, once he finally got to the ruddy extraction point of course. He almost had the heart to pity the poor fellow who would have to put up with Bond's complaining over his less than stellar accommodations, he thought with thrill of sadistic glee. Bond really should have known better than to blow up another one of his department's modified cars. Q was fully prepared to take this latest affront out of his hide, literally if necessary.

"Left into and through the alley. You're almost there, 007." Q deftly instructed. "Right."

"No, your other right. Do we have to go back to primary school, 007?" Q could only sigh as Bond made another hair tight turn. He sat up slightly,"In about ten seconds, there will be a shooter waiting to ambush you in an alley to the left. In three.."

Bond pivoted in what was quickly becoming a trademark move, and swung his weapon up and squeezed off two shots in quick succession. After a quick double tap to the chest of his would be assassin, he was again on his way. Securing the satchel slung over his chest, and tucking the Walter squarely away back in it's holster, he efficiently shot his cuffs and straightened his somehow spotless suit jacket. He turned into the dock's entrance, and slipped under the cheap security bar. God, he loved this country, he thought in momentary wonderment. Swinging under the guard rail and landing with a barely noticeable wince on a small motorboat, he quickly revved the engine to life.

With a quick jerk of the wheel and a push of the throttle, he set out into the bay. "Which one, Q?" he asked as his roared past a few sailboats closer to shore and out to deeper water.

"The Siesta Mona, 007. Now get on the bloody boat, and try to avoid blowing it up." Q directed, "I'm not going to be here to be your glorified G.P.S. if you do. Contrary to popular belief, you are note my only responsibility. At least, by some miracle, you managed to keep some of your equipment. But make no mistake Bond, we will be talking about your need to continuously destroy my tech extensively in the near future." Click.

Bond glanced at the ship he was to board. He had to hand it to Q. He really knew how to kick a man when he was down. That damn mug might have to remain intact after all, at least until Q's latest snit fit was over. He heard the com line click on again, "007? Do you require anything further before you depart? Medical attention, at least?.…007?" Oh, lovely, he got passed to a minion. Click.

"007?" Bloody temperamental Double-O's, the minion sighed. Click.

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Q flicked the ear piece onto his desk, snagged a small mountain of paperwork, and promptly dropped it on R's desk. "These will be your responsibility while I'm gone. Fill them out, scan them, and file them. Have the minions help if needed." He motioned to a much larger collection of files. "Place those in my office. I'll deal with them when I get back." He glanced around his domain. Everything seemed to be in order. Lovely. "Bond is in transit, and should return to be debriefed in a few days. If he actually stays on the ship for longer than a day, I'd be surprised." He handed her the debriefing forms, and with a brief glance as if to say 'good luck', he turned and made for the door.

With a tired, yet accomplished sigh, he made his way to the threshold. Only to turn back and remark to the room at large, "This is my first vacation in five years."

"Yes, sir" R archly replied.

"Don't call me unless the country is on the verge of collapse, the world is ending, or a 00 does something truly stupid that would result in either." And with a mumbled comment on 007's stupidity in comparison to his compatriots, and his ability to cock any mission up as much as possible, he was gone.

"So…who's started the office pool on how long it will be before said phone call?" R softly called out to the room at large. A minion slowly raises his hand a few cubicles over. "Put me down for 24 hours." The hand slowly lowers, only to cover a quick grin.

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Q walked rather quickly out of M16 for a man who had a week of freedom on the books. However, nobody would call him an idiot. And if there was one thing he could count on, it was Bond's ability to act like an idiot. He gave himself two, maybe three days, possibly four if 007 was injured, before Bond got bored and he got called back to mitigate the damage. Everything else he needed to be kept abreast of could be sent to his personal tablet, so with luck he might still get a few days of downtime, never mind that he had put in for a full week.

He was slightly apprehensive about leaving R in charge for the first time, but it wasn't like M, Tanner, or Eve wouldn't be able to track him down if needed, he assured himself. And with those doubts firmly assuaged, he determinedly picked up his pace. There was a train waiting for him at the station, and damned if he was going to miss it on account of Bond on his histrionics.

Although the rumor regarding his rampant phobia was largely cultivated by Q himself, he still felt that the ground was much friendlier than the air. Who was he to care that his preferences got misconstrued so? It never hurt to be underestimated. It often came in handy later down the line. When it came down to it, Q was sometimes too smart for his own good. Not to mention that too many airplane crashes have been made to look like accidents. He should know really, he planned more than a few of those 'accidents' himself. It's amazing how much can go wrong in a pressurized tin can flying miles above the ground.

Pushing such thoughts aside, he gladly settled into his plush seat and pulled out his tablet. He had a few side projects that he had been meaning to work on in his spare time. A few would even make Bond sit up and beg, he thought with smirk.


	2. The Return

Chapter 2:

The Return

Q was abruptly jolted out of a rather complex set of coding, by a rather insistent ringing sound coming from his luggage. He could only sigh as he gazed down at the state of his latest project. He set aside his tablet, filled with the schematics for something truly explosive for 004's next mission. It was sure to make Bond's cold heart beat with envy, Q gleefully imagined. Q couldn't deny that that image alone, Bond's poker face broken by a thinly veiled hint of affront, the lines on his forehead deepening as he quietly fumed from his usual corner in Q branch, made the work well worth the extra personal hours. He could dream on as much as he liked, after this latest cock up he would be lucky to get something as sophisticated as a click-y pen.

It was with an irritated sigh at the unwanted disruption, that he reached into his bag to retrieve the ringing device. He had to admit that if it wasn't for a signed contract and not-so-latent, and rather thinly-hidden control issues, he would have turned the damn thing off as soon as he made the train.

"If he blew up the boat, I don't want to hear about it." He barked into the phone. "It's only been 2 hours. 2 bloody hours!" He couldn't deny the whining tone that had just come from his mouth. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

He was well on his way to working up a full head of steam. He had had enough, damn it! Even Q himself would admit that while he usually had no trouble working without even a break to sleep, let alone eat, he was nearing the end of his metaphorical rope.

After what came to be known as Operation Skyfall, he had been working almost non-stop in order to reconfigure their entire system, so as to avoid any potential repeat incidents in the future. Not to mention handling not only 007's missions, but the other Double-Os high profile missions as well. Plus, with the combining of R&D and Tech Support into Q branch, he had been constantly drowned by stacks of redundant paperwork and patents pending, and the politic intrigues that followed being a department head.

It was the 3 P's that formed the basis of his administrative hell. And he had finally been given leave of it for a few days. Days, mind you, not 2 measly hours. He was almost ready to start banging his head against the nearest hard surface. See how far they got, with a brain addled Quartermaster, he spitefully thought. "What has he done now?" he inquired tiredly.

"Q." And all the air he had sucked in quietly whooshed out in a muted sigh.

Q could almost feel M's voice creeping down the phone line as it came through the small speaker. It seems like his vacation dreams were destined to wither and die before his eyes.

He sucked in a quick fortifying breath, before tonelessly replying in his more characteristic manner, "Yes, M?"

He could only imagine what Bond had done now, or that this could in fact be about anything _but_ Bond. He closed his eyes as he anticipated the migraine that was coming his way.

"Why are you on a train when I am staring at a report that lists Bond's status as, and I quote, 'missing, but statistically alive'?" Oh, lovely, Q dryly remarked to himself. Why isn't he surprised, again? And wasn't it great that someone in Q branch had decided to grow a sense of humor now, of all times.

"So, we have an agent missing where he shouldn't be according to our political allies" M relentlessly continued, "and we are unaware as to whether he is going to turn up in a way that is going to cause us embarrassment. Or, Lord help us, in the hands of the enemy and create a political nightmare." he barked down the line.

He paused, and his tone once again smoothed out to it's more characteristic dispassionate and level tones, "Your vacation is officially over, Q. Get off on the next stop; Tanner should have a car waiting for you there already. I'll expect a report to be ready upon your arrival back at headquarters." he directed.

His tone turned wry, "I hope you enjoyed your time away. I can't see it happening again for quite some time." The quiet but decisive click of the call ending echoed down the line.

It sounded an awful lot like Bond laughing at him, Q mused. Q could only massage the bridge of his nose, and curse the day he agreed to be Bond's primary handler. It was with a groan that he began to pack up, thankfully, or not, as the case may be, the next stop was coming up in only a few minutes. He really should have foisted this particular duty off on R. The ulcer he was getting over the antics of one lone agent was truly ridiculous.

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"What's his status?" M barked as he strode into Q Branch and up to a newly returned Q.

"Alive. Barely. Or at least according to his tracker.", the words were bitten out in his posh accent, hanging heavily in the air between them. Even speech required more attention than he wanted to give at the moment. Bond was being surprisingly elusive this time, it was almost enough the enlarge the small germ of worry that had popped into being at the back of his mind when he had been told that Bond was missing yet again. He shoved it aside, and continued to focus his concentration on the task at hand. Worrying certainly wouldn't help Bond out of his current predicament.

"We lost contact two hours ago. His tracker is functional, but intermittent at best.", he calmly reported as his fingers continued to fly over the keys, "Apparently, he never made contact with the ship's Captain." He glanced back quickly at M, only to quickly return his attention to the screens before him.

"We can only assume he ran into difficulty or unexpectedly decided to change course. Probably got distracted by a yacht where some half naked heiress just happened to be sunbathing and stopped in for a 'chat'." Q quipped. And if he had, Q thought darkly, he better not make it down to Q branch for a least a month. It would take that long for Q to fight back the urge to want to shoot or possibly strangle him on sight.

Q could only glare harder at the screen, as Bond refused to materialize on cue. He continued to vainly search for 007's presence among CCTV footage. The local chatter was quiet for the moment, but that could be an indication of something else entirely. The region had been far from stable to begin with, and with all of Bond's antics, there should have been an uptick in chatter, not this steady hum. Something else was going on, something far from good if Bond's luck was any indication.

Wouldn't be considerate enough to have a routine mission for once, and let a well-deserving handler of his take a ruddy vacation, Q thought as he viciously stroked the keys beneath his fingers. No, let's just make him come back and play hide and bloody seek. As Q grumbled quietly to himself, he motioned for a minion to open up another console and directed him to start running facial recognition software on the men surrounding Bond during his departure from the dock. Another minion was already monitoring potential exits out of the area. With luck, they might just get a hit and gain some insight into Bond's latest cock up.

Q couldn't help but think that if Bond had been outfitted with the new sub-dermal tracker he had worked so hard to perfect, they wouldn't even be in this mess. He'd already be at his destination, and have a cup of Earl Grey at his side to boot. He knew Bond's pension for ditching medical was going to catch up to him. If only it had been more conveniently timed, and less of Q's problem, he mused.

He would have taken great pleasure in pointing this out to Bond at the moment. One more 'I told you so' would have placed them in a ruddy tie, too. Don't think he isn't completely aware of the scoreboard that his minions keep track of and of the resultant office pool. He was close to winning this month's bloody round too. Under an alias from Accounting, of course, although he really doubted if that rouse fooled anyone but the lowest of interns. Just like Bond to foil another one of his small pleasures.

"And the mission?" M prompted, already knowing the answer, but wishing for confirmation.

"Successful. By the skin of his ruddy teeth. It was finished for all intent and purposes before I left. He had made it to the extraction point and was in sight of his transport home." Q clipped out.

"I've found him, sir" a middle aged minion interrupted to report, motioning to the console he had been working on directly to Q's left.

He didn't quite hide the sigh of relief as Q's expression went from tense and icy to merely irritated, with a barely perceptible hint of relief. Q turned and approached the adjacent console. He pulled up the footage showing Bond being intercepted and surrounded on the merchant ship's deck, just as he had boarded the side. He could only watch as Bond was consequently knocked unconscious with a rather hard looking piece of wood. The footage continued to play out, grainy and only distinct enough to make out three figures as they hauled Bond's limp body back over the side and into another, smaller vessel.

"Where is this footage coming from?" Q demanded, as he strained to make out details in the grainy footage. He strode over to his own computer. "Transfer that footage to the main screen." He waited...and waited."Oh, never mind." he snapped.

Losing patience, Q remotely accessed the console and transferred the image himself. Now that he had a lead to work from, he was impatient to get the Double-O back here where he belonged, clogging up the place and making his life difficult in more manageable ways.

"It came from a cruise ship server. Apparently a pair of tourists got quite a show when they decided to video tape their entrance into port. Had to upload it straight away for all the grandkids at home to see. It's on the internet now. I'm sure they will be small town celebrities upon their return." R dryly remarked.

She quickly took over, nudging the minion out of the chair, and shooing the minion away from the console with a flip of her hand before Q had him demoted from 'minion' to 'pet' in his irritability. The minion only threw a quick glance filled with gratitude at R, before rushing back to his own station, away from the line of fire. R barely noticed, already transferring the data to her own terminal for further analysis.

"The internet." Q remarked coldly.

"Yes, sir." Verified R quietly as she closed down the console and returned to her station.

"Only Bond." He shook his head almost fondly.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Take it off the internet and track it to its source. We don't need a 00's picture all over the internet." Q snapped as he pulled up the complete footage.

It picked up where it left off, only to show Bond's form being bound to the side of the vessel as it moved away from the ship, and made for a nearby... "Is that a bloody yacht?" Q asked tensely.

He watched as a tall red headed woman, with lithe, graceful movements, wandered out onto the yacht's deck, shielding her eyes against the sun. As he observed her scantily clad form, his fingers flexed forcefully while they hovered over the keyboard.

Only the sound of clicking keys picking up tempo was his answer.

A.N. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but this story seems to have taken on a life of it's own. Also, I'm new to writing fanfiction, so any feedback you can provide would be invaluable to me.


	3. Unexpected Worries

Chapter 3

Unexpected Worries

A.N. A special thank you to Anya for her kind words of encouragement, without which this chapter might never have gotten posted.

Q only gave himself a moment to seethe at the sheer injustice of it all. He slowly drew in a deep breath, exhaling quietly and flexing his hands one more time before laying them oh-so gently upon his station. He reached up with one hand and deftly pushed his glasses back up into place with a steady, if still slightly white, fingertip.

"Well, it seems that Bond has decided to upgrade his transport arrangements." He stated, tonelessly, once again able to project the professionalism he had come to be known for since his start in Q branch five long years ago.

It was the type of professional demeanor that Bond loved to see wobble and crack around the edges when he was present, constantly poking and prodding. Like a ruddy boy pulling his secret sweetheart's pig tales, Q snorted to himself, but then again secret wasn't exactly apt in this regard. The agent's interest had been far from subtle. A blunt instrument, indeed, Q scoffed to himself. One would think that with a reputation like Bond's, a little more subtlety would be evident.

However, although Bond's interest was in some ways flattering and his behaviors occasionally annoyingly cute, or how rewarding Q sometimes found the situation...well, Q wasn't in any way interested in being labeled Bond's latest conquest in a long line. There were enough around the building as it was. Plus, it seemed he was rather high maintenance even without romantic entanglements, he mused, somewhat snidely.

How typical, and oh, how galling, of the Double-O to put him in this situation. He apparently couldn't even handle a brief stay on a regular old merchant vessel. Too plebeian, no doubt. Not enough flair. The damn primadonna.

"Pity." Q mumbled quietly to himself, lost in thought, picturing Bond's face at being forced to sleep on a cot instead of a ruddy down mattress.

It had seemed fitting enough when he had made the arrangements; one old rust bucket to go with another. Plus, it had been gratifying to think of Bond having to suffer after he had wasted all of the effort Q had went through to get him a decent automobile for this mission, modifications and all. Bond truly had no idea how many hours and how much of the budget had gone into this one project. Or if he did, he didn't care. Well, Q had thought, I will just have to make him care.

He would have thought with the way Bond had lighten up at it's presentation and with the way his hand had almost petted it's finish, that it would have lasted longer in the field. Q wouldn't put it past Bond to have gotten kidnapped on purpose, just to avoid his just desserts. Bond would do it just to spite him if nothing else. Never mind that there had been four men to his one, he had seen Bond take on worse odds and come out on top.

"Track the boat. I want to know where it is, who's on board, and where it's going." Q coolly directed, speaking to the room at large.

Without looking over his shoulder to check that his orders were being followed, after all he trusted the increased bustling behind him was due to such and not a mass mutiny, Q back tracked to the earlier footage of Bond's escape. Something had to have been missed, something must have been overlooked. It was the only logical explanation.

And as he rewound the footage, he could have kicked himself for not seeing it the first time round. He should have been paying more attention, if Bond…well, thinking like that wouldn't help him be much assistance. He shook his head deftly, more angry with himself than he would care to admit, and if there was a hint of fear thrown in as well, he would deny, deny, deny. He fast forwarded and zoomed in for a better angle on the tall figure, and then with a hard tap of a key, froze the image for further analysis, and sent a copy of it to R.

"Check the image I sent you against the footage from the ship. I want to know if he was on board." he directed, with a quick glance thrown at R's station to catch her eye. R nodded deftly, brown hair falling to obscure her eyes as they returned to her screen.

No point, really, in examining 'what if' scenarios or getting ahead of oneself, he told himself firmly. While Bond had been following his directions, or at least his bumbling attempt to, someone had been following Bond.

Easy to overlook, the man was average in almost every way, average enough that it could only be deliberate. Medium height, medium build, brown eyes set in an indistinct face covered by a fringe of brown hair, he would be hard pressed to picked out of a line up, Q mused. And a bit less of a fashionista than another he could name.

Whereas as Bond stood out in his traditionally close cut tailored suit, Q could only roll his eyes at the man's sense of fashion in the middle of a firefight, the man behind him blended easily in with the crowd. Q inputted his face into the facial recognition software, hoping to get a hit off the database. He scanned back to when he first picked up 007's trail.

He must have picked up Bond's trail after the market, Q devised, as he searched in vain for the man in the bustling marketplace. He hacked into the camera footage of the store Bond had detoured through. And…there. A man in a tan cloth jacket could be seen following Bond's trail, encasing muscular arms and showing off the bulge made by the weapon holster under his arm.

"A truly unpleasant individual, no doubt." Q mumbled quietly to himself, a sense of inexplicable trepidation running all the way from the back of his neck and down across the vertebrae of his spine.

His head swiveled back and forth between monitors, before darting to one of the screens as it flashed, a match between the mysteries individual and an old flagged file popping up under the blinking notification.

"Well, look who we have here." he quietly muttered. A passing minion glanced at the screen as he passed, his face flashing white before deftlymoving to his station and quietly picking up the phone.

A.N. A rather short chapter, I know, but I've been knocking this chapter around for a while, trying to beat it into shape. And I was afraid if I batted at it anymore, it was just going to disintegrate...so, here you go. Hope enjoyed it. As ever, feel free to review and share your thoughts. 3


	4. Captors and Cliches

Chapter 4

Captors and Cliches

Bond awoke to a dull throbbing reverberating through his skull. Remembering, he could guess that it stemmed from the nice sized knot that was most likely forming on the back of his head. As he raised his hand to check the damage, he wiped ineffectively at the blood dripping into his eyes from the deep cut through his left eyebrow, with a deep grimace.

He wasn't surprised by the sound of clinking chains that reached his ears as he lifted his hand. Oddly resigned, he looked down to see his wrists encompassed by a set of old fashioned metal manacles. The manacles appeared to be connected by, oh, Lord save him from the cliché, he sneered, braided chains drooping down between his legs and snaking behind his prone form. Even though it sent a sharp jolt of pain through his head, Bond couldn't avoid rolling his eyes at the sense of melodrama displayed by his captors.

As he followed the length of the chains with pain sharpened eyes, he saw that they were connected to a rusted loop built into the stone wall he had pushed his cold, numb body up to sit against.

Wonderful, he thought drolly, an antique. As he attempted to find a weakness in the manacles hold, he grimaced slightly at the thought, and at the rough bite of the metal as it ground against his wrists.

Handcuffs and ropes were so much more elegant, he sighed, and so much more easily dealt with. As he turned his head to eye the rusted loop of metal protruding from the wall, he couldn't contain a quiet hiss through tightly clenched teeth as his head rolled against the rough stone, aggravating his head and sending bolts of pain radiating through his neck and skull.

Q wasn't going to be pleased, was oddly Bond's first clear thought as his situation became more apparent. And when you combine the loss of his plans, Bond's own dilemma, on top of the ire the man already felt at the loss of his latest toys, well, the boffin was going to be apoplectic.

If Bond's situation wasn't as pressing, he would take the time to thoroughly enjoy the mental image of Q in a strop. And Q thought he was so _clever_, sneaking away before he made his return. As if he wouldn't notice the tech's absence during his now habitual end of mission pass through Q branch. It wasn't like Q could honestly think that Bond would stay put as ordered, and not take the opportunity to return ahead of schedule.

A bloody merchant vessel, honestly, Q, Bond thought with fond exasperation.

Q might think him completely unaware of his plans outside of the office and the mission at hand, but Bond was well aware of what his Quartermaster got up to while he was away. Just like he was aware that that bloody ship was meant to play the role of babysitter and keep him occupied while Q made a hasty retreat from headquarters.

As if Q would get very far without some type of shadow, likely him. Or that the minions could keep a secret from a determined, well trained Double-O. A smirk briefly flittered across Bond's face, before it returned to its characteristic blankness. Bond had had a few, well, more than a few, days of leave saved up, and he had been picturing Q's face at his unannounced presence on his little jaunt when he had been subsequently surrounded.

As his thoughts had once again drifted to a certain maddening handler, Bond had arisen and wound the course chains around his forearms. Bracing himself against the wall with his left foot, he attempted to pull and tug the manacles loose from the rusted loop of metal. After one last ineffective heave, Bond resigned himself to waiting for his captor's arrival. While the metal seemed brittle, the wall mounted connection refused to budge.

He sat and once again contemplated his dismal surroundings. It had all the makings of a Hollywood B-movie scene. The damp, exposed cellar, with bare exposed brick floors and walls, and a large wooden door that was no doubt latched with the perquisite steel padlock to match the lovely manacles. The cavernous room was empty save for a small little stool set against the far wall, and a deep puddle of water that had gathered in the right exposed corner of the room.

Bond sharply glanced away as the sun beamed into the room from the rather large hole in the ceiling only to hit the collected water, and catch him across the eyes. As he turned his head away, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps coming down the outside corridor.

With nowhere to hide and the inability to do so, Bond deftly returned to the position he had came to in, and quickly regulated his breathing and demeanor to feign his previous state of unconsciousness. He forced his tense body to go limp as the padlock was loudly removed and two sets of footsteps entered the room.

He listened intently as one man moved to approach his still form, and the other, heavier set of footsteps, stopped in the center of the room.

"So, this is a Double-O?" the man asked his companion, inching closer to the downed agent with a sneer laced heavily with bravado.

"Keep your distance, you fool." barked the other man, voice deep and commanding, "Dangerous men should not be trifled with. And you are not getting paid to look, let alone think. Now drop the damn tray and let's get the hell out of here."

"He doesn't look that dangerous." The higher, younger voice remarked. A muffled thump came from the vicinity of the stool, along with the clink of glass.

"I mean, look, he is all tied up." His voice took on a slightly more sadistic and gleeful tone as the footsteps inched closer.

Bond braced himself minutely, just in time to take a kick to the side. Bond didn't have to fake the low moan that escaped him.

When the man maneuvered closer to his downed figure to kick him again, Bond forcefully rolled into the man's feet, quickly catching the man off balance and sending him crashing to the ground beside him. He quickly pinned the younger man to the floor. Bond deftly snagged the gun out of the back of the man's pants as he held him against the ground with a strong forearm.

He snapped the gun into position and shot the older man before he had a chance to call out for reinforcements.

As the rather fat man fell to the ground with a bullet centered between his eyes, Bond quickly brought the butt of the gun down onto the younger man's head, smashing it against his forehead as he attempted to twist out of Bond's hold.

Bond stood gracefully, deftly straightentd his lapels, shot his cuff links, and brushed down his trousers out of ingrained muscle memory. He hefted the gun, and with a small shrug of his shoulders, turned to the side and shot down at the chain of the manacles. He could only snort as the chain easily broke.

He didn't know if he should be more offended by the blatant clichés, ineffectual henchmen included, or by the fact that his captors had been cheap enough to buy reproductions instead of original steel.

As he turned to walk away, he paused a moment, only to turn and swiftly kick the prone form at his feet. The groan that issued forth brought a small, vindictively smile to the corner of the Double-O's mouth as he made his way silently through the door, already contemplating how he was going to make all this up to Q.

After all, he wouldn't want to make it home only to be killed by his favorite boffin, he thought with a smirk, as he made his way soundlessly down the dank corridor.

A.N. Reviews are, as ever, welcome and appreciated. 3


	5. Frustrations and Headaches Abound

Frustrations and Headaches Abound Chapter 5

Q marched back into Q Branch, his hand rubbing at his forehead for a moment, before returning quickly to his side. Mustn't give the minions any ideas, he thought snidely. He didn't want to have a repeat of last year.

The jockeying for position in Q Branch was legendary to those in the know, and the competition between its agents even more so. Q had been lucky enough to combat the perceived weakness of his youth, bloody old fashioned wankers. He wasn't about to have any rumors starting concerning his 'delicate' constitution. Especially not over another bloody Bond induced headache.

And while he may be exempt from such competitions and machinations now that he had M firmly in his corner and an official appointment on the books, rumors would only cause trouble in the long run. Decreased efficiency. Pointless attempts at mutiny. And it was so hard to get his minions trained properly. He didn't want to have to start from scratch. It was all so bloody tiresome.

As he made his way across the polished floor, he scanned the cavernous room for R's distinct head of hair. M had been far from thrilled by his update or lack of it. There wasn't much new to report, which was galling and worrying all at the same time.

They had thought that they had taken care of this particular problem, and to find out that it had not only not been resolved but that it had grown, had given everyone in the upper circles a jolt and a headache they were happy to share.

Now it was Q's job to get it all straightened away. Like a ruddy janitor, he thought in disgust. His lips pursed as he contemplated the clean up job in front of him.

He also couldn't help but think smugly, a small smirk flashing across his face, that if Bond had been placed in charge of that particular mission, they wouldn't be in this mess. But, no, M had thought it a grand idea that he accompany Bond overseas to take care of a ring of small cyber terrorists that had been plaguing their less fortunate cousins in the CIA. He had told them as well, that his minions where not fully recovered enough nor experienced enough to handle such a mission without his direct guidance. But what does he know, he was apparently nothing more than a highly paid janitor after all.

Serves them right, he scowled, they should have known nothing would go right when they decided to put him on a bloody plane instead of leaving him be in his domain. If he had been here, they might not even be in this mess.

Minions just weren't meant to go unsupervised for that long, even with someone as competent as R in charge. Although how competent she really was, was now being brought into question. R was R, but there was a reason she was passed over for Q. He had kept her on, in part due to her competency thus far and in part to her familiarity with the older crowd and her willingness to bend to the inevitability of change.

And maybe a change is what was needed in this case, Q thought with a frown, or a bloody vacation. It was no wonder that his minions were as run down as he was in their own way. He was proud of the fact that his employees were more than willing to go above and beyond for Queen and Country, long hours and lost weekends included, but that was no excuse for shoddy workmanship and blatant mistakes.

Q finally spotted her coming through an archway recessed into the far corner, striding out of the armory as the door sealed behind her. He waved her over with a sharp slash of the hand held over his head.

Without looking to see if she would follow, he stepped up to his central desk and began accessing relevant files. It was time to ferret out where the hell Bond ended up. This was becoming truly ridiculous.

How hard could it possibly be to find a Double-O with a penchant for blowing shit up? He scoffed to himself. Either he was slipping or he needed time away from the madness of MI6 more than he had thought.

"Re-familiarize yourself with the Farmington Operation." he ordered, as R came up behind him, eyes not leaving the lightly lit screen.

A smart minion placed a steaming cup of Earl Grey at his elbow before quietly disappearing. Q deftly snagged the cup as he continued to type one handed.

"And I expect a report in twenty minutes on how you cocked it up." Q continued, voice expressionless. The cup was set down with an audible click, the soft sound echoing in the space between them.

R blanched. "Sir?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?" he asked, dangerously soft, head still bent.

R gulped. "No, sir." she stated quietly, voice subdued.

The minions ringing the small platform went silent as the small drama unfolded, eyes averting as R slid past, hands shaking faintly as they clutched at the small clipboard she carried.

Small whispers broke out as R returned quietly to her station. Malicious gossip began to spread instantly. R was out of favor, at the moment at least, and some had loved to see her fall. As the sound of typing slowly petered out, to be replaced by pointed glances, Q turned his head sharply to the side.

"As for the rest of you," he began coldly, his voice carrying easily in the large room, "If I don't have Bond's location within the hour, I'll be rotating you out to work on the re-wiring efforts and volunteering your services to tech support."

The decades of accumulated filth and the rumors of rat infested corridors was enough to refocus the masses. Not to mention the prospect of serving in the unique hell of tech support-it was were techies went to die or worse-be phased out. There were only so many times you could order an agent to turn something off and on again, before you were begging a passing Double-O to put a bullet in your head.

The small sea of heads turned back to their consoles so quickly that Q was surprised that no one experienced whiplash. With a smug gaze and a grimly determined expression, he turned and pulled up the security footage of Q Branch accumulated and archived during Operation Farmington. Something wasn't right; he thought as his mind raced, he could feel it.

As the footage began to run on the nearest monitor, Q began running programs, and inputting new sets of code. If something or someone was or had been acting outside of their normal parameters, he would soon know about it. Nothing got past him for long, not here at least.

The yacht itself had been a dead end, mere transport and a hired Captain paid to look the other way. It was all too pedestrian, which was what made this whole cock up so embarrassing. Apparently they had become accustomed to the grand super villain model of doing things.

It was so much easier when the culprits were obliging enough to lead you to their super secret hideout, Q mused sarcastically, but in this case, he thought, they were just going to have to keep gathering intelligence and wait for Bond to make his usual flashy reappearance. The simplicity of the kidnapping was almost brilliant in its own way, Q mused wryly, the lack of technology in the area coupled with the ties they must have had to the area had certainly worked in their favor.

Bond's ass was getting a new tracker whether he liked it or not, Medical be damned. Q would do the honors himself once Bond was back if he had to. Best to do it now, before Bond got senile and started wandering off even more than usual. As it was, all they could do now was wait for some sign of movement from the missing agent. Based on past history, it shouldn't be long now.

Q had to grudgingly admit that his agent's penchant for explosions and pyromania occasionally came in handy. More so, when his tech wasn't involved and subsequently destroyed costing his department thousands if not millions of dollar, but I guess you can't have everything, Q supposed. He would just have to find a way for Bond to start working his debt off, he thought with a small devious grin.

Q pushed a hand under his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with his fingertips. He was tired, God, was he tired. His face was pale and his fingers had started to shake from the overdose of caffeine over an hour ago.

Bond was going to kill him, he thought somewhat hysterically. And he wasn't even going to need a bloody gun to do it. Q let out a quiet snort of disgust, pinching the bridge of his nose. He paused to re-situate his glasses, before leaning down to snag his headset. As he moved to fit it into place, an image on the far screen caught his eye. He stilled, freezing in place, mouth opening slightly in muted shock.

He stared at the image provided by the facial recognition software as it flashed across the far screen.

"Sir?" a minion asked quietly for his attention, as he stood just below the dais, wringing his hands. Q merely continued to stare. The bloody cheek, he thought numbly, mind going momentarily blank.

The bloody cheek. He began to silently fume, his eyes still caught on the still image, taking on a sharp glint. He finally flung the headset down onto his desk with a flick of his wrist.

"Q?" the minion asked again, voice beginning to waver slightly. He took a small step closer to the raised platform.

"We've found Bond, sir." He reported quietly, tone tentative.

"I can see that." Q remarked sharply, tonelessly, before saying, "I want to talk to him." voice turning vaguely ominous, with a dash of pure menace thrown in. The minion flinched.

The expression that crossed Q's face as he turned back to his console to patch through a call, had the minion quietly backing away, before turning and scurrying back to his station. He didn't want to be in the Double-O's position at the moment.

He chanced another look at the footage now streaming live across the screen.

No, indeed. God help 007, he thought, because no one else will. And the fallout was going to be magnificent to behold, he thought with gleeful relish, as he chanced one last look at Q. He could hardly wait.

Notes: More of a transition chapter, I have to admit. Next update title: Reunion Part 1 As always, reviews and comments are treasured and appreciated.


	6. Reunion: Part 1

The Not-So-Great Escape Chapter 6: Reunion: Part 1

Q walked through the door of his modest flat with a sigh. He turned on the lights with a weary flick of his hand, and made a mental note to install something more sophisticated when he got the chance. Along with everything else he needed to do, including the dishes.

He made his way around the mountain of junk mail that had been shoved through his mail slot to sit abandoned in an ever growing pile. He glanced down as he walked, noting that MI6 must have changed his alias again. Good to know. God, he needed to catch up on life. He was starting to turn into the former Q, bad habits and all.

He stepped into the kitchen, eyes going to the pile of dishes in the sink. Nope, he thought, shaking his head slightly. He turned pointedly away and opened up the nearest cupboard, hands going through the motions as he made himself a cup of tea. He stared into space, jolting as the kettle began to whistle. Without looking, he reached into the open shelf above for a cup. Finding only empty air, he peered upwards blearily. He wished he had the energy to be dismayed.

His head connected with the cabinet with a dull thunk. Instead of reaching up to rub the now sore spot, he rubbed back and forth on the edge of the wooden shelf, pressing it into his forehead, trying to drown out the throbbing at the base of his skull.

He jolted as a set of hands came to rest on his shoulders, thumbs pushing into the knots that had formed over the last few days. He threw his head back, hearing a sickening crunch of a nose breaking. Defense training was turning out not to be such a waste of time after all, he thought ideally, as he turned swiftly to take in the trespasser.

"Bond." he said, voice strained. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He reached a hand up to rub the back of his head. He flinched as his hand found the new ache. Great, he thought, anything else? A concussion, anyone? As he lowered his hand, he hid it behind him, hiding how it shook slightly, before turning abruptly away.

Bond took out a pressed handkerchief from some inner pocket, pressing it to his nose, and straightening it with a slight grimace. He stared at Q, face expressionless.

Uncomfortable, Q made his way over to the sink, plugging it and turning on the tap to fill it with water. Giving his hands something to do, and his mind something else to focus on seemed to be the best thing to do. Not to mention, that now he really could use that cup of tea.

"Serves you right." He idly remarked as Bond folded the handkerchief with a flick of the wrist, and tucked it away. He turned back to the sink, watching soap bubbles form as the feeling of detachment that had enveloped him since he left Headquarters seemed to grow.

He faintly heard the whisper of cloth against cloth, before Bond appeared, towel in hand, waiting silently. This could be a sign of the apocalypse, Q thought distantly, he really should call it in. His hands automatically began to scrub, and without thought he passed the dish to Bond.

Once the sink was emptied out and dried, Q was jolted slightly out of his stupor by the cup of tea being held under his nose by broad hands. He took the cup, fingers curling into the warmth, mumbling a quiet, "Thank you." to the agent in his kitchen.

He felt numb. The last few days, and well...Bond had snapped whatever reserves he had had left. He was numb enough to only vaguely notice as he was herded by a hand placed gently on his lower back and steered toward the living room. As he was eased onto the couch, Q protested faintly, only to stare as two pills were insistently held out to him in the palm of a gun-calloused hand.

"Please tell me you brought the gun back at least?" Q mumbled, swallowing the pills and washing them down with the last sip of tea.

The cup was deftly taken away. Q's mind began to turn to fog, swirling and turning, just as the room seemed too. He stretched out, muscles screaming in relief as his posture finally relaxed. He stared blearily up at Bond, the agent's face hidden in shadows.

He watched, drained, as the agent walked back into the kitchen to presumably add the first piece to the sink, the start of the next wonderful dish pile.

"Try to avoid the urge to blow something up in there, 007. You've more than reached your quota, I would say. And I'm not cleaning up any more of your messes tonight." he said hoarsely, as he reached for the blanket draped over the coach, pulling it down over his form. He must have forgotten to turn the furnace on again, he thought fuzzily as the pills began to take effect.

His eyes closed slowly, as he began to drift, slowly falling into sleep. He roused slightly as his glasses were gently slipped from his face.

"This doesn't get you out of anything, Bond. You still owe me a bloody car.", he mumbled quietly.

"Yes, Q." Bond said indulgently, reaching down to deftly draw the blanket up over the slim form. He frowned slightly as he noticed the light shivers.

He stared intently down at the young genius as he finally seemed to drift off into sleep. Damned if he knew why he was here, he thought, frowning slightly. After a barely detectable sigh, he stood up from his perch on the coffee table, knees popping. Good thing Q was already out, Bond thought with a small smirk, he wouldn't have let that bit go without a decent quip. Bond was almost disappointed at missing it.

Lost in thought, Bond quietly made his way down the hall and over to the thermostat at the door, turning the furnace on with a flick of a finger and a click. If Q had been awake, Bond wouldn't have let this go either. A genius who couldn't even remember to turn the heat on in the cold, he scoffed. He smirked faintly as he made his way back to the living room, elegantly sliding into the arm chair facing the door and the still figure.

He tented his fingers, and settled in to wait. He owed Q after all, just not a 'bloody car'. But he was certainly going to appreciate the effort Q was going to make to get him to pay up. As he glanced around the dim lit room, he spotted a partially hidden brochure under a mountain of scientific and technological journals, as well as a well-read letter.

He leaned forward lightly and snagged both off the table, before reclining back in his seat. Angling the items toward the light, he quickly skimmed their contents. He felt only a slight pang at invading the Quartermaster's privacy, but well…spy.

As the contents of the items became clear, his eyes turned to the slumbering form, quietly assessing the man with now dark eyes.

"The car would have been easier." he finally remarked, quietly, slipping the two bits of paper into his inner pocket.

"But I'm sure I can come up with something suitable." A wicked grin crossed his face, as he slowly stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. He deftly settled in for the long wait till morning. He was looking forward to it.

Notes: Thank you to all who took the time to comment. I appreciated your kind words. As always, your comments are welcome and appreciated.


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